Page 54 of Dial B for Billionaire

“You can't say things like that.”

“Why not? We're already crossing every line. Might as well be honest about it.”

“Being honest makes it real.”

“It's already real, Layla.” His voice is rough now. “It's been real since you walked up to me with shaking hands and told me I had a symmetrical face.”

“I was nervous!”

“You were perfect.” The raw honesty in his voice undoes me. “And every day since has been an exercise in torture. Sitting across from you in meetings. Watching you fight for your people. Seeing your brilliant mind work. And not being able to touch you.”

“Bennett—”

“Do you know what you wore to the meeting last Tuesday?”

My mind scrambles. “The navy dress?”

“The navy dress with the buttons.” His voice drops. “The third button kept straining when you leaned forward to make a point. I spent the entire meeting fantasizing about it popping open.”

Heat floods through me. “You were discussing quarterly projections.”

“I was discussing quarterly projections while imagining undressing you on the conference table.”

“Oh God.” I press my thighs together, already aching.

“Too much?” he asks, but there's a smile in his voice.

“No.” The word escapes before I can stop it. “Not enough.”

His sharp intake of breath makes me braver.

“I think about you too,” I admit. “During meetings. After meetings. That day you rolled up your sleeves while reviewing contracts? I had to excuse myself.”

“Why?”

“Because all I could think about was your hands. What they'd feel like on me. In me.”

“Fuck, Layla.”

“And last Thursday, when you loosened your tie during the budget review? I lost track of the conversation completely. Just stared at your throat and imagined…” I stop, face flaming.

“Tell me.” His voice is commanding now. “Tell me what you imagined.”

“Kissing you there. Right where your pulse beats. Feeling it race under my lips.”

“I'm touching myself,” he says roughly. “Is that what you want to hear? That I'm so fucking hard just from your voice that I can't help it?”

The confession shoots straight between my legs. “Yes.”

“Your turn. Tell me what you're doing.”

“Nothing. Yet.”

“Touch yourself.” It's not a request. “I want to know you're as desperate as I am.”

I slide my hand into my shorts, finding myself already slick. “Oh God.”

“That's it.” His breathing is harsh now. “Are you wet for me?”

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